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SALSA VERDE
SALSA VERDE

▅▅▅▅austin | ♏︎ | he/him | 28 | vegan

Hi, I’m Salsa Verde, arguably the best salsa and formally known as the writer, Syn. I’m a Wildlife Biologist traveling the country looking to work with the coolest: herps, mammals, birds, and invertebrates I can get my hands on. I also like plants, trees, and fungi specifically. I’ve been writing for about 13 years now and recently decided to get back into it. I enjoy anything from casual to high roleplay, 1x1, and arena. My main genres tend to be anime, SOL, and superhero but I’m really down to participate in anything. And yeah I like all that weeb shit.

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Most Recent Posts

Sex Pistol

Blaire Williams

Human Female 26 174.5 cm 58 kg Outlaw





// A P P E A R A N C E \\
Blaire’s body is a representation of what kind of life she’s led up until now. The ink on her body forever a work in progress as her story has yet to be completed. Each tattoo is meticulously catered to each impactful experience she’s had. There are none that are as trivial as keeping score of how many bodies she’s pilled up along the way or where she comes from, instead they’re more on where she’s going and who she met along the way. Years of being on the run and always a name in multiple dead pools has kept her body nimble and fit. While she doesn’t have any overly muscular arms or legs, she does manage to maintain a lean stomach and impressive flexibility. Her hair is tucked back into a neat ponytail with a few strands hanging from the front, while the sides are kept shaven.

Her wardrobe could be best described as neo punk militant. Her jacket is that of the leather variety studded out into sections. She wears a white top that wraps down all the way down past her buttocks that also reveals her midriff above. Her pants are camo with the sides cut out near the thigh, held together by a black belt with holster attachments and almost cybernetic looking combat boots. Beyond that she wears a single golden ear piece around the edge of her right ear. She almost prides herself on retaining her human look without any of these worldly implants.

// P E R S O N A L I T Y \\
Abrasive, Domineering, just an overall bitch are some of the adjectives used to describe Blaire. To be honest it wasn’t her fault she turned out this way, she was just a product of her environment and there was nothing that could thrive but negative emotions. Blaire relies on herself, always has and always will, her tough exterior is what helped her survive for so long while on the run. While she might lack tact, she will never give you the run around. Trust has become a commodity in the current climate of militaristic empires and space thievery and she’s running short. While not one that readily trusts she isn’t one to be trusted either, her need for freedom and self-preservation overrides all even if that means coning those she loves.

As an outlaw she’s good at what she does a con artist, cheat, and a pro in espionage. These were all traits she learned and perfected in order to shed the skin of the caged animal from her past. Blaire is the girl who grew up in squalor and poverty and built herself into a woman who does whatever she wants, obeys no-one and is constrained by nothing. Blaire will never ever be caught, restrained, controlled, dependent – or prohibited from doing something. And if she wants to have something, she will have it. Blaire is also very private, hard to read and unpredictable. She’s mysterious and has a certain aloofness when it comes to her privacy. Privacy is something she was denied a lot as a kid and is indispensable to protect both her freedom and her safety.

Generally, for much of her life, Blaire has been a loner. She just doesn’t need company and can function perfectly well living alone, though she has nothing against having friendships within limits. She’s a hardened criminal that grew up in a violent and harsh environment and can evidence a rather nasty temper. When pushed Blaire can be remarkably devious, manipulative and brutal. Her plans are crafty and cunning and employ the strengths and weaknesses of her opponents against them. Even though the list runs short on positives qualities, they are in fact still there. Over the past few years having been involved with the crew and the Captain specifically, has allowed her to open up more and toe the line of hero instead of villain. Adamant against the changes happening within her and displaying her inner weaknesses has been hard to adjust to but pleasant for the rest of the crew as she was a feral animal at the beginning.

// H I S T O R Y \\
A chilled glass sat nearly empty on a soggy napkin near the edge of the table. Tattooed fingers wrapped around and emptied whatever ichor was left inside leaving just a clump of ice. As her head came into focus one could see Blaire reaching for another credit from her studded jacket pocket whilst flagging over the barkeep to top her off once more. She had a quiet life one that wound down into nights like these where she drank her stress away and tried to spend more money than she could make sitting there. It was…nice if you could say even that and so this continued week in and week out every time the crew had down time. But things were not always this peaceful and easy for the outlaw known as Blaire Williams, no, instead it had a much more tumultuous start.

There’s no real beginning to Blaire’s story nor any evidence of where she came from or who her parents were. Instead all that can be determined from her past starts at the foot of concrete steps leading to the front door of a little orphanage known as Placid Waters. Placid waters were a less than desirable institution tucked away in the recesses of some far off planet written off as a waste of time and resources. With no guidelines or moral structure, they were free to do as they please, unchecked power like that would soon go to their heads. The infrastructure was more reminiscent of a prison than an actual orphanage, there was a head mother who in turn had an army of sisters to do her bidding. The sisters barely cared for any of the children there as far as avoiding them whenever they ran into any form of accident.

This sense of apathy led to a multitude of illnesses and deformities within the children there, some developed bowed legs others became susceptible to rickets and other just straight up died to whatever illness they succumbed to without any hope of medication. The images of bodies constantly carried out and later burned in a pyre left both sight and smell imprinted on the minds of the youths. Food was another metric in which they were shorted. The children were given three meals a day every six hours and if you missed one for your weekly shower than you wouldn’t be able to eat for another twelve hours. The meals consisted of whatever food was leftover from the sisters and head mother, not only did they get the scraps, but they only had five minutes to eat whatever was there before having it taken from them. This created ‘stuffers’ children who shoved all their food into their clothes in order to eat it later.

So why did the kids never rally against their oppressors? Well one they were small children who most often not were emaciated in health and two, the reason why the orphanage earned its name. You see in this run-down planet left to rot after severe nuclear warfare, these ghettos were surrounded by the runoff that contained toxic water from the height of the war. The water that ran through the orphanage was used by the head mother to act as a suppressant to the children. The constant exposure to the water had left them placid or docile unable to see what was happening. Everyone except Blaire, Blaire had saw what the sisters were up to as they never drank the water themselves. To get by she mastered the sleight of hand ability and was able to switch her cup out with one that was already empty.

While she bided her time, she acted the role of model slave despite planning her escape over years of planning. Slowly but surely, she weened off a few children and had made them accomplices in her rebellion having earned their trust. Little by little she gained the trust of the head mother and would snitch on any kids or sisters acting out of term, but this was all a guise so she could siphon technology and small resources she could use to aid in their space. Eventually, through years of servitude she was finally ready to enact her plan. The tools she had accumulated over time went to aid in the construction of a device to purify the placid waters plaguing the children. With a fresh water source, the children were finally free of their mental chains and able to grow into healthy bodies. Of course, the sisters were the first line of defense and noticed the sudden change. Hoping to outsmart them they tested the water to confirm their suspicions, however the water they drank was not the purified water but that of the placid waters. Becoming docile and without way to carry their findings to their head mother, the kids only furthered their agenda.

Eventually when the head mother caught wind herself it was too late, she tried to regain her grip on their strings. Instead she was met by the sisters who she had controlled for so long, Frankenstein’s monster turning on its master. With the demise of the head mother Blaire found it perfect timing to escape the orphanage that had plagued them so long. Yet the kids who she had helped no longer wanted to leave and decided to stay and run the orphanage themselves, encouraging Blaire to continue with her life on her own with promises of their own safety. Reluctant to leave, Blaire pushed onward having been used to the isolation she had turned into a blanket. This is where she started her path down becoming an outlaw. Needing shelter, money, and food she did what any vagrant would do and joined a mercenary group. The one she chose, The Space Mongrels, were the lowest of the low in the hierarchical ladder. There was no honor among thieves, and they had no moral or ethics to boot, whatever put food on the table and money in their pockets was what guided them.

Having outlived their usefulness, Blaire did what thieves do best and double crossed them, wiping out their whole company. Looting all their money and weapons she made her way off the planet on her newly acquired ship, she had finally made it to the stars she once never thought she’d reach. Over the next few years her name began to appear on headlines and a household name amongst bounty hunters and the like. Rumors swelled around her as if she were some new age cowboy turned thief, especially because she was a female. Like a blade she became sharper and deadlier, piling up charges and bodies alike. The zeros attached to her name on her bounties across law databases and black-market dead pools only increased with no plans of being caught in sight. But every star that burns to bright eventually must fizzle out. Becoming over zealous and flying too close to the sun, Blaire attempted the riskiest heist of her life, the theft of a union ship.

She didn’t really care though; the thrill of the hunt was more than enough to let her attempt it. Just a hair away from securing the union ship she was caught by several battalions of galactic police. She had no trial, her case was open and shut only leading to one thing, her execution. Ready to hang from the gallows in front of a crowd of people Blaire selfishly accepted her fate. That was until she was promptly let go and saved from the clutches of death in return for pledging her life to the captain who saved her. An unlikely alliance that continues to blossom.

// W E A P O N S & E Q U I P M E N T \\
Trigger Ring – a seemingly harmless obsidian colored ring can be seen worn on each ring finger. What makes these rings a weapon are what they’re attached to. In order to further her title as fastest gun alive Blaire needs a little insurance. Reinforced wire is threaded from a small hole in both rings that feed down her body and coil around the trigger guard and handle of her pistols. The wires are loose as to not entangle or ensnare with anything around her, upon pressing a button on her ring the wires become taut and pull the guns into her hands without having to reach down. The wire is not always attached but will attach themselves once she makes initial contact with her pistols priming it for scenarios as needed. Otherwise she relies on her natural speed.

Sex Pistols – At first glance it looks as though Blaire is carrying rather basic and low-grade pistols in her arsenal. However much like an animal mutates in order to survive their environment, so do her weapons. The trick to her pistols is solely dependent on the type of cartridge of ammunition or barrel attachment she equips to her pistol. Upon utilizing one of several magazines the gun begins to transform seemingly deconstructing from the base model and reconstructing into a completely new pistol in both ability and design. If she were to equip a barrel attachment to shoot grenades, sex pistols would lengthen the size of the barrel and create a space for a drum like attachment similar in design to a revolver chamber. Thus, allowing her to shoot off multiple (up to 12) rounds from each gun. Not only can she use two of the same attachments/ammo but she can also mix and match. After detachment the gun will revert to her normal pistol that shoot military standard munition of the present year.

Mercury Rounds – with this magazine, Blaire can equip her gun with bullets created from mercury. The gun transforms into a pistol that allows for the mercury to become solid at the standard pressure and temperature of whichever location she is in. Once fired and hit, the bullet changes back to its liquid form. This round has special poisonous effects in addition to becoming a good conductor of electricity.

Electric Rounds – If equipped Sex pistols will fork in two along the barrel creating an empty space between the top and bottom sections. Both sections form metallic coils that run parallel from each other from top and bottom. Once she squeezes the trigger, electrons are conducted through the wires and condensed to create electric blasts/rounds. Paired with the mercury rounds the combo can prove to be quite electric.

Kiss this – Another unique feature of Sex Pistols is the ability to fuse her pistols together. Since the base guns can be altered so heavily, she discovered a feature in which she can attach the two weapons together either side to side or front to back. Depending on the alignment the pistols can turn into a pseudo assault rifle with range and increased stopping power or a pseudo shotgun with more force and scatter shot ability. The fusion not only ties together the gun but also homogenizes the magazine and barrels she attaches. For instance, if she used an incendiary round and a gelling attachment, she could effectively create rounds of napalm.

Some other attachments
  • Cryo Round
  • Corrosive
  • Adhesive
  • Gravity wells
  • Ricochet
  • Thermal seeking
  • Gauss
  • Tracking


Ammo – How does Blaire not manage to run out of ammo? Well inside of her studded vest are rows and rows of holstered clips of ammo. All she needs to do is reach inside her jacket to retrieve resupply. In addition to her normal array of 19mm rounds she has all her specialty rounds as listed above.

// S P E C I A L T Y \\
Blaire’s specialty is that of a futuristic cowboy, there’s nothing in her outlaw wheelhouse that can’t be used to a benefit. She’s an expert marksman, the fastest hand in several galaxies, a professional con artist and skilled in disappearing. As far as weapons she has proficiency in most if not all firearms that are current tech or older models whether they be military or black market.

// O T H E R \\
In order to not be left defenseless without her guns, Blaire took it upon herself to pay a hefty sum of credits in order to have a variation of martial arts uploaded to her brain. In addition to a cocktail of lethal marital arts she also asked to be able to muscularly mimic the movements of contortionist and acrobats in order to fully utilize her flexibility and lean body almost like a cat.

As far as weaknesses go she is pure human meat sack and susceptible to sickness and life threatening injury as she has no cybernetic enhancement that would prevent otherwise.

I'll get my bio up in a bit I'm just trying to parse together the details out for my character's history. I apologize for the wait.
Mitsue Kurotuo




If there was anyone that loved to rest their eyes under the kindling warmth of the sun it was none other than Mitsue. It was all about appreciating the little things in life and being able to relax in between the hectic flow of life in the Gotei 13. Previously, he had grown accustomed to the chirps and clicks of cicadas back when he was living and now that he was dead, but one thing he had not grown accustomed to was the butterfly trying to perch itself on the tip of his nose. His peace gone he tried to swat whatever it was away before he realized the battle had already been lost. Opening his eyes only furthered his depression, “Another meeting I guess” checking the time, “And I guess I’m late.”

Reluctantly the captain rose and shuffled into his ceremonial garb and made his way to the main hall. A crushed box slithered out of his haori along with his hand as a white stick appeared from being jostled around. A quick smoke was all he needed to get through this and from previous experience he knew quite intimately how to time it. Finally arriving he saw his contemporaries had already made themselves comfortable almost too comfortable with Taro already putting his nose to the grindstone whilst the seasoned alcoholic in Myako was already offering drinks.

“Good grief, maybe I’ll take that drink” he said combing any loose hairs out of the front of his face. Mitsue made his way in between Taro and Okirigae and made himself at home. “You know you’ll poke someone’s eye out if you keep twirling that around Mosumi. I’m offended you didn’t wait for me either or drag me out. That goes for you to Taro you giant door stop.”
Mangekyō







With no time to waste, Mitsue made his way to the next barrack over. Hopefully Taro was in better spirits than Mitsue was or at least in cleaner clothes. Looking down at his clothes he was covered in blood, he wasn’t sure whose blood it was anymore besides the pasty red stain on his shirt that belonged to Okirigae. The knot in his stomach only tightened as his mind began to process everything going on, from the beginning when he stepped outside to now where everything was going to hell. Where was his captain? Was he going to turn on the rest of the divisions just as Matsurada did? In any event he needed answers and assurance that Taro had some. “Ta—” he said getting cut short as he looked up and crashed into a behemoth of a man the size and density of a fucking boulder.
--

“Mitsue...” the familiarity of a friend gave Taro a brief moment of respite. He had been wandering for a while, not sure which direction to take, but like a light in the dark Mitsue had appeared. “What’s happening?! Who is attacking us? I didn’t see who it was but someone…” the lump in his throat stopped him as his head caught up with his mouth. “Captain Mizushima. He...he’s dead.” Taro couldn't help but hang his head at the admission, almost saying it to himself as much as Mitsue.

--

Recoiling in pain he tried to make sense of the bells ringing in his head. Looking for some kind of joke to make he was stopped short having heard what Taro just said. Nothing turned his blood colder than that of what was just recanted. The knot in his stomach was so taut at this point he could feel the saliva in his mouth turn hot and his need to purge coming up his esophagus. What was happening? One captain dead another turning his back on the rest. Taro the usually friendly and unwavering giant hung his head solemnly. Knowing he had to be the stronger one of the two he raised a hand and rested it on the giants shoulder. “I’m..I’m sorry to hear that. We’ll make it up to him soon enough. Matsurada has betrayed us and Haruzato is dead. We need to save Okirigae”

--

“What!?” Taro hesitated, he was so drained by what had happened earlier that he hadn’t even stopped to think about other casualties. “Let’s go!” Taro drew his Zanpakuto and the pair raced towards the eleventh division barracks.

--

Before the mountain could take off fully, the hand resting on his shoulder pulled on the collar as if Mitsue had enough strength to stop the hulk of a man. “Waitttt there’s a faster way. I planted a prism on her so I just need you to hold my feet and yank me once I give you the thumbs up okay?” He reaches into his pocket and shot his prism out as it formed s circular mirror revealing Okirigae. Putting his head and one arm into the portal he grabbed Kiri’s arm, “don’t mind me” he said as semi levitating head.

--

Taro stood there blinking for a few moments before his face widened in a determined smile. This was something he could do. Crashing his palms onto Mitsue’s back he grasped clumps of his Shihakusho and with a gleeful delight he heaved his friend backwards with a force much more than needed.

--

Personally Mitsue found some sick delight in being pulled like a rag doll by Taro, it was the silver linings that mattered in moments like these. He had barely just gave Taro the thumbs up before he was yanked back faster than he was prepared for. Tumbling back out the portal closed and the prisms attached to Kiri and Mitsue has both vanished. “Let’s do it again” he said with a devilish smile.

--

Okirigae felt a hand on her arm, turning her head, she was swiftly pulled from the statue of Matsurada and came tumbling out in front of the two shinigami that had “saved” her. “Kill them…” a voice rang deep from within her. Looking at the two, Taro and Mitsu would feel the ground underneath them start to shift. Stepping forward the girl attempted to flash step towards the two, before her wound left from Matsurada sprayed from the stress she was giving on her body. She had lost too much blood and was thrown out of the technique, barreling unconscious towards Taro.

--

Holding his hands up Taro braced himself for the impact. A quick thud followed before he peeked from behind closed eyes, seeing a slight Okirigae squished against his torso as if she fell into a wall. “Oh.” he managed to mumble before he had to catch her fall. Scooping up her legs he held her in his large arms and looked at Mitsue blankly “Where do we go?”

--

Mitsue clenched the hilt of his sword ready for yet another skirmish with this warrior woman. It wasn’t until she knocked into and fell into Taro’s embrace like a cradled baby did he loosen his grip and took a sigh of relief. “For now we need her to the fourth division and get her treated. The captain there is probably dead or worse so we must be wary. You’ll have to stay with her while I go look for mine. And Taro, if I don’t come back don’t look for me, you’ll know if this prism breaks” Mitsue said handing him a prism filled with a flame of reishi inside before taking off towards the infirmary.

--

Taro gave an affirmative nod and he allowed Mitsue to tuck the prism in his Obi sash. He watched his friend runoff in the direction of the tenth squad before looking down at the unconscious Okirigae. “Let's get you to division four! They’ll tend to your wounds and get you back on your feet.” He swung her around in his grasp, resting her over his shoulder so he could run at pace and escape this confounding situation. Taro hoped answers would follow.

Kurotuo, Mitsue
Kaleidoscope/Mangekyō


Main theme | Sad Boi Hours | Fighting Theme
~"Good Grief."~




We have fun here


@vancexentan

Can you fix the coding on your sheet it’s kind of hard to read
Kurotuo, Mitsue
Kaleidoscope/Mangekyō


Main theme | Sad Boi Hours | Fighting Theme
~"Good Grief."~




We have fun here


I would like to take 10 if possible
reporting for duty
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W a y D o w n W e G o , P a r t I
location: MIT, Linguistic Department → P.J's Brewpub
interacting with: Jack Wilkerson, @hawkins
◂◂ II ▸▸ Roundabout — Yes§
There was no feeling quite like it, the sensation of running a finger down the hard-covered spine of a well-kept book. The weight of the pages carefully bound together to create one singular masterpiece. And then of course was the pièce de résistance, the intoxicating smell of old books and pages. The chemical compounds breaking down over time to elicit the savory and succulent aroma of vanilla flowers and almonds. It almost always sent a shiver down Meir’s spine before giving his skin a layer of goosebumps to match. His office was rather stacked in terms of how much space was occupied by shelves and cases lined with books, it was enough to rival a small library. One supposes this would be the kind of achievement and prize awarded to one of the most astute professors in their designated fields, just not this many.

Regardless of whether or not he could go home after his lectures and office hours, Meir chose to stay on campus. It’s not like he had a wife waiting at home nor kids, a dog, any of that in all actuality. Without much responsibilities in the way, he took his work home with him or rather work became his home. Planting himself in his favorite chair he set his book down and peeled the front page open, exposing the title of the current work directly in view, it was titled Ozymandias. The sonnet from 1818 was one of his favorites, 14 lines filled with wonderful allegories and imagery that left for several interpretations depending on the reader. Meir empathized with the broken statue, a once great leader left to history and buried in the sands of time with no one to notice. The crisp sound of the page flipping was music to his ears as he pressed on.

I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”


His attempt to flip the page was cancelled out by the sudden vibration of his phone in his pocket. Putting his book on pause he tugged on a red ribbon and tucked it within the crease of page and closed it gently. It was probably one of his students asking for extra credit or creating some kind of somber and poignant story on why they were unable to hand in their assignment on time. Preparing himself for his next sob story he was astonished to see it was neither a colleague nor a student, but instead a Facebook group invitation. Now what they said was true, Facebook IS for old people, but that didn’t mean that 24 was old. Instead he just used it for the messenger app to speak with friends and keep up to date on family matters. Perhaps a mistake? Intrigued he pressed on to find that it was from one of his ex-classmates, Jack Wilkerson.

”Jack Wilkerson, Jack Wilkerson” he said in pensive thought, trying to match the face to the name. ”Stupid, just click on her profile picture” quickly realizing his folly. Once the picture loaded, his expression shifted into nostalgia. Jack Wilkerson! The girl who barely made it to graduation after being on the edge of having missed to many days of school. And the girl who accidentally hit him in the head with an improvised weapon made from paper clips and elastic bands. The memory surged through his head creating a burning sensation in the spot of his forehead she managed to snipe. So why did she reach out to him of all people? He was no one, a shadow, a nerd. Meir had tutored her to ensure that she did pass her classes despite her lackluster attitude to learn. Plus, Jack was always a social butterfly and one to rotate between every social group imaginable.

Meir would have been lying if the idea of a reunion of corralled ex-classmates wasn’t enticing to him. While he had nothing of show or importance in high school besides his grades, he had plenty to showcase now. What would he show off first? His superhuman physique he cultivated all these years to near perfection? Maybe introduce himself as Dr. Maggid without coming off as pretentious. However, the thoughts of bragging about his accomplishments were quickly diminished when he read that their old high school was sentenced for decommission. His heart sank in his chest, the thought of losing all the memories (both pleasant and not so pleasant) struck something deep within him. Imagining the thought of losing his own institution that he called home drove the point even more. Even if his classmates didn’t show up, he knew he would. Who knows, maybe the school would allow their former valedictorian to collect any books they were unable to donate.

His thumbs raced all across his keyboard, managing to scrawl a semi-professional email detailing his acceptance to the event he knew would go over jack’s head, at this point it was just second nature. Setting his phone down he reclined back into his chair letting out a deep sigh before closing his eyes, ”Nothing beside remains. Round the decay.”

When his eyes opened it was a week later and finally the big day, the end of Ritman High. Meir had spent the day finishing up his recitations and lectures, ensuring all of his students had a fair amount of work to be done while he was away on personal time. This was probably a godsend to the students, no teacher meant they could fuck off and worry about the deadline the night of. With everything done and out of the way Meir packed his things and took one last look at his room before flicking the light switch off and heading out into his car. A sudden sensation of uneasiness accumulated in the pits of his stomach. Was he nervous to go back? To see everyone who looked at him funny? Who else would Jack have contacted and who was going to show up? Meir did his best to shake his thoughts and focus on the road ahead, anything else he could handle when they came up.

Meir fingered the volume dial on his radio, blasting his music while his leg pressed hard on the gas letting out a vicious roar of his engine. Another notification popped on his screen, again from Jack, only this time it wasn’t a cancellation but instead something else. ”So she found the time capsule. Man, I don’t even remember what I put in there besides my yearbook…that no one signed…except for Mrs. Brady” his mind clung to that thought and drifted off into a daydream. A few hours and two or three gas stops later, his car was seen turning the corner into the lot of P.J.’s. The engine and lights switched of, Meir stepped out breathing in the fresh Maine air stretching out his arms. The more things changed the more they stayed same it appeared. Literally everything was the exact same just as he had last left it.

Meir took out his phone to let Jack know that he arrived, noticing that he was the first and only one to do so. Without waiting for a reply Meir walked in and looked around hoping to find a girl who looked like she didn’t give a shit. Low and behold there was non other than Jack sitting by herself besides a dirt encrusted capsule. Years of presenting in front of a classroom had prepared him for this, the same sweaty palmed nerdy boy wasn’t the same person that sat down next to Jack. “So, what you drinking?” he asked whilst getting the attention of the bartender, “Harvey Wallbanger for me and another round of whatever for her on me.”
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